Page 43 of Sweet Oblivion

“I’m glad you were here,” Nash murmured against my cheek. I leaned against his chest and he braced his feet on the outsides of mine. His arms wrapped around my waist and his breath tickled the hairs around my ear.

I tipped my head back, noting how close his lips were to mine. I wanted them on mine. I wanted him to admit his feelings. I wanted…more than Nash was ready to give—maybe more than he would ever give me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because as much as I like performing, it’s personal. Well, not so much this song because Cam already had the lyrics written, but other ones. My songs. They’re…” He clutched me tighter. “I’m just glad you’re here. It’s easier to sing with you nearby.”

Not a declaration of love, but still an opening. Nash was more truthful with me than he was with just about anyone else. And still I struggled to know what he thought, how he felt.

Part of that was being the son of famous parents, but a larger part was due to the trauma inflicted by his parents’ choices. They’d abandoned him right when he needed them most. No one overcame that type of pain with ease or without it changing something fundamental inside. I knew this from experience.

But I refused to think of my own father. This was Nash’s night, and I’d bask in the connection between us.

We watched the rest of Cam’s show like that. Afterward, Cam insisted on taking us out for a celebratory milkshake, and then he packed up his bus while Steve waited nearby in the SUV we’d used to get our drinks.

“See you in Atlanta,” Cam said, giving Nash a fist bump. He turned and wrapped me in a hug. “And give those Boston boys hell.”

Nash scowled.

“Thank you for having me—” I began.

“None of that,” Cam said. “You’re welcome on my tour anytime, Aya. Plus, you make that sad sack over there smile.” He leaned in closer and murmured, “I like that boy happy.”

“Me, too.”

Nash and Steve then drove me to the airport. When we arrived, Steve pulled around to a private hangar at the back and up to a sleek white jet with the logo for Syad Hotel Group on the side.

“We’re flying private?” I asked.

“Of course,” Nash said. “It just sits in the hangar in Austin most of the time. I figured this was a good use of it. We can get you up to Boston and then meet Cam in Atlanta—and we can all catch some sleep.”

“That’s so thoughtful,” I said, my shock morphing into warmth.

He tucked a tendril of hair behind my ear, rubbing the strands. “I’m glad you stayed tonight, Aya. It meant a lot to me. So, yeah, I’m going to make sure you get to your nerd class as rested as possible.”

I laughed even as I smacked his arm. “I thought I was smart and badass.”

“You are. The rest…” Nash trailed off, scowling.

“Let’s get you on board,” Steve said. “The pilot’s gone through his flight check and is ready to go.”

The flight felt short, mainly because I fell asleep within moments of take-off. I woke to find Nash’s head atop mine and his hand over mine, which rested on his upper thigh. Another few inches and I’d…

Nash snorted, and I giggled. He lifted his head, eyes bleary. I sat up and noted Steve’s gaze on us. I hoped I didn’t blush. Thank goodness I hadn’t acted on my impulse. Then I sighed, realizing I didn’t even know what I was to Nash—and that he was going to be with all the pretty girls along the East Coast for the next few weeks.

“Why don’t you two go clean up and change?” Steve suggested. His hair was damp, so he must have already used the facilities. “We have some time before Aya’s check-in.”

Nash took my hand and led me out the door of the plane. I blinked, still fuzzy from sleep, surprised to see the sun was up. He smiled. “The flight was only a couple of hours, so Steve had the pilot take the scenic route.”

I shook my head. “The amount of fuel—”

“Leave it, Aya. It’s done. You needed rest. So did I.” He cleared his throat. “Steve said he’d record the concerts. I could send those to you.”

I grabbed his hand, tugging him against my chest. I noted the way his pupils expanded and his nostrils flared. Nash liked my chest. A lot. “I’d be happy to watch your performances,” I said as we climbed into the waiting SUV.

“Breakfast, then to MIT,” Steve said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Any place you want to go?” Nash asked.

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